


Christmas at Baker Street

by Paulacht



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (BBC Radio)
Genre: Christmas, Dinner, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paulacht/pseuds/Paulacht
Summary: It's the first time you are going to spend Christmas at Baker Street! Or at least, that's what you thought. When a bouquet from James Moriarty shows up at your flat, you, Sherlock and John wonder if there's something behind it. Soon, another mysterious case turns up and the focus change. Now you must decide alone: who?





	1. Christmas Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I wanted to write a Christmas story and this ideia came over and I thought: why not? It's nothing serious, so just enjoy it. On this one, you will be able to choose between Sherlock, John and Moriarty at the end (or none, of course). It isn't going to be very long, but I don't have anything planned yet. I hope you like it!

You look proudly at the Christmas tree you and John spent all morning decorating. Sherlock was typing on his phone the whole time, and this is already pissing you off. You approach him and he pretends not noticing, too immerse in his text. You take the phone from his hands.

\- Oh, for God’s sake, it’s a case! – He gets up, trying to take the phone from your hands again.

\- It’s Christmas, Sherlock! Try to look at our faces, at least! – You break from him, blocking the screen. You put the phone in your sweater pocket.

He stands there, looking at you in frustration. You look at John, and both of you roll eyes. Sherlock sits on his armchair again. He adjusts his loose dressing gown up his shoulders.

\- So, (y/n), what do you suggest us to do in this lovely day? – He fakes a smile, pointing out the window. Clouds covered the sky and the mixture of snow and soil wasn’t that good looking. What a beautiful Christmas day, indeed.

\- Cluedo? – You say the first thing that comes to your mind, trying to ignore his sass.

\- No, please no. – John answers, coming from the kitchen with tea. He distributes the cups and sits on his armchair. You sit on the clients’ chair.

The three of you sip the tea silently, eventually making eye contact. The awkwardness was getting on you. You try to think about something to say, but soon you realize that Sherlock was creating this atmosphere on purpose. If he wanted, he would have suggested something to do, or at least to talk about. You put the cup on the table.

\- I’m phoning my parents. You know, Christmas. – You leave the flat, rushing over to 221C, where you have been living around one year by now.

When you open the door, the first thing you see is a flashy bouquet. You walk towards it, and run your finger over the soft petals of a white rose. You see a note attached to the bouquet, and when you open it your heart flutters.

“Merry Christmas, my dear. Shall we have dinner? 8 p.m. it is. – JM”

You and Jim had met before, as he went to your university for a lecture once. He is a professor, as part of his disguise from his villainous work. You helped him assemble the equipment and ended up talking a little bit. And ok, you had a cup of coffee/tea after the lecture as well. But he was pleasant and really charming. That was before you moved to London, before you met Sherlock and John. You didn’t know who James Moriarty really is. After that, you never got in touch with him again. There he is, inviting you for dinner. You wonder if he was kind on purpose. Hardly, as you didn’t have connection with any of his allies or enemies. He didn't have any reason to fake it. But it's impossible to know. You never told Sherlock and John about this.

That’s when you hear a knock at your door. You take a deep breath.

\- Coming! – You think if you should hide the bouquet and not tell about the note. However, it would be really childish to do so. And you really needed to talk about this. After all, at 8 p.m. Baker Street’s friends are coming over as well. You put on your better pocker face and open the door. Sherlock.


	2. Christmas Afternoon

You put on your better pocker face and open the door. Sherlock.  
\- Let’s go.  
\- Go? Where?  
\- That’s up to John. He was the one who told me to com… – He looks over your shoulder, finally noticing the bouquet. He blinks twice, going back to himself. – Let’s go. – He turns to the stairs, walking towards it.  
\- But Sherlo… - He doesn’t answer, keeping up his pace. – Sherlock!  
He stops in the middle of the stairs, facing you.  
\- What?  
\- The bouquet…  
\- An admirer? How sweet. (y/n), why would I care about who you go out with? If that’s what you want, I wish you all the luck for this date of yours.  
You don’t say anything, but this really hurt you. Sherlock noticed this as well. He swallows, turning back to the stairs. Why does he need to be so rude? Your face turns red.  
\- It’s from Moriarty! – You burst. – Sherlock faces you again, with widened eyes.  
\- What?  
\- You heard me.  
He runs past you, in the direction of the bouquet. He analyses it carefully, and reads the note. He’s analysing the paper against the clarity coming from the window when you say, already by his side:  
\- And… what should I do? - You decide that acting angry is not a possibility now.  
\- Why would he send this to you? I can’t imagine Moriarty having feelings – he infatuates the last word – towards anyone. What does he want then?  
\- I need to tell you something. – His attention comes back to you. He puts the note on the desk, clueless. That’s when you realize. The game is on.  
Both of you go back to 221B, but this time it is different. You feel like a client. Sherlock observed you mindfully while you told your story. John listened to everything with widened eyes, amazed by your story. After you finish your narrative, Sherlock gets up from his armchair, walking in circles around the room.  
\- Clever.  
\- What? – You ask.  
\- You heard me. – He smiles, throwing back the same remark you made some time earlier.  
\- Why clever? Why would Moriarty use her if she didn’t live in London that time? – John asks.  
\- That’s why it is clever.  
\- So you don’t know?  
\- Not yet. – He admits, a little bit embarrassed. He throws himself at the sofa, curling into a ball and closing his eyes.  
For you the encounter with Moriarty seemed… real. You don’t have the courage to say so, though, fearing that they might laugh at you. That’s when Sherlock’s phone rings. He snaps his eyes open, and you remember you put it in your pocket. The screen showed a saved number. Lestrade.  
“Sherlock”  
\- No, Greg. (y/n).  
“What? Nevermind, (y/n). Could you pass the phone to Sherlock? Urgently.  
You are getting up to give it to him, but you notice that Sherlock is already by your side. You hand him the device. You exchange a worried look with John. Sherlock hears whatever the other detective is saying and a few moments later ends the call.  
\- Let’s go.  
Both of them rush to the stairs, and you run after them. You enter the lobby with your heart already pulsing adrenaline. You put your coat and your gloves. You leave the flat, and John closes the door. Sherlock calls a cab and the three of you enter the car, you smashed in the middle of them.  
\- What’s the case about?  
\- Andrew Lawson, a noble man disappeared yesterday night. The police is having trouble to find evidence of the kidnapper, as always. I don’t think it is a very thrilling case, maybe a 5 or a 6. However, I need something to… open my mind. After solving this one I may have an answer to your problem.  
After a rather silent drive, you arrive at the crime scene. You have never been in this area, and everything was beautiful. The estate is enormous, and smoke left from the chimneys. The front garden was covered of snow, which even looks fluffier here. You feel like you are in some Disney movie. The cab stops at the gate, and John pays the man while you leave.  
You see Greg Lestrade running in your direction. The facial expression he does makes you brush off all the enchantment you felt from the beauty of the place and remember why you are here in the first place.  
\- You came. This case is particularly curious and very confusing. We couldn't find any clues. - He greets you all with a handshake.  
You walk into the house, but no longer talk with Sherlock nor John, as they were now "cluing", too immerse in deductions and possible evidences. You wander within the house, which was full of cops looking for some clue or anything. You haven't gone to many investigations yet, so you are still learning. You look out of one window, thoughtful. That's the most peculiar Christmas you are having so far. First the dinner invitation, now this weird kidnapping.  
\- Sherlock needed to be alone.  
You are snapped out of your thoughts by John, who was looking out of the window as well. For how long has he been there?  
\- You scared me. Why? Is everything alright? - You realize how stupid the question sounded. Of course it isn't alright. Someone has just disappeared - I mean...  
\- I understood. - He looks at you. - There are no apparent clues. No fingertips, no shoes print, no blood, nothing.  
\- What if he just... left?  
\- Don't you think he would leave some print behind? Why would he leave like that? He had wife and children, he was apparently happy. And why at Christmas?  
Both of you stay on silence, thinking about it. If he was kidnapped, how were you supposed to find a criminal that didn't left any clues?  
\- Doesn't he have enemies?  
\- We all do. But I don't think that his were this... threatening.  
\- I don't know. He's a public figure, after all. A noble.  
\- That's what we are trying to find out. I should go now, interview some people. Do you want to come?  
\- Not now. You can go, I catch you later.  
He nods, taps your shoulder and hurry through the corridor. You watch him turn to another corridor. Minutes later, you find John interviewing a woman, Andrew’s wife apparently, from the fancy clothing and jewellery. She doesn’t cry, but you notice she had done it sooner. Her eyes and nose were red and she sniffed from time to time. After John is done with her, you feel terribly sorry for her situation. You know you shouldn’t talk on a personal level with clients, but this time you can’t help yourself. You pat her shoulder and she raises her eyes to face you.  
\- I’m sorry, mrs. Lawson.  
\- He was an incredible man, ms. – She yearns – I can’t imagine what happened. We were so happy. He didn’t cause trouble to anyone. A sweetheart, truly. What’s going to be of me and my family now?  
\- Don’t use the past to refer to him, mrs. We don’t know yet.  
\- But do you think he is alive?  
You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t. What if he wasn’t?  
\- I can’t answer this, ma’am. However, it’s important to have hope.  
\- Yes, yes. You are right, I guess. – She sniffs. – Thank you. You are the first person that actually said a genuine “I’m sorry.”  
You leave her, going in a search for Sherlock, whom you haven’t seen since you first arrived. You want to know if he found out something. Anything. You found him in the master’s bedroom, where, according to John’s interview with mrs. Lawson, he spent the night until she woke up alone. Your phone buzzes, though. You stop besides the door. A text.  
“You must wear formal attire. Don’t worry too much about how you look, though, as you are already lovely. – JM, 5:12 p.m.”  
You put your phone back at your pocket and sighs. With all this you have forgotten about this damn dinner. And what about the Christmas party at 221B? It’s almost a quarter past five and you haven’t even decided what you would do. You don’t even know if you have a chance at all. You look at Sherlock analysing the windows, too immerse in thought.  
You step back, heading out to the exit. You see a cab passing, and you make a sign for it.  
\- 221B Baker Street, please.


	3. Chapter 3

Once you are in the lobby you can already smell the scent of cookies and cake. Mrs. Hudson must be almost done with the Christmas dinner. You had agreed with her that you work help her prepare the food but turned out you completely forgot about it. You close the 221C door silently and goes to the bathroom. As you take a shower, you think about your day. It's so weird how it turned out to be. You try to not think much about it, but soon you realize that it would be much better if you made your own decision. 

When you are done, you wrap yourself in a towel and open the bathroom door. John is standing at the door frame, facing you. Once he realizes you are just with your towel, he fixes on your face. The effort he does to not look at your body is visible, though. You regret not bringing your clothes beforehand to the bathroom, evicting all this awkwardness.

\- What are you doing here? - You ask.  
\- What am I doing here? You left without telling anyone, (y/n). What were you thinking?

\- I'm sorry. 

\- What? 

\- Not going to repeat that. - You let go a little smile. - It's that I... - You stop, thinking about your next words - I am going to the dinner. 

\- With Moriarty. Have you gone insane? - He says, giving his disapproving irritated smile he usually keeps for Sherlock.

\- Have you thought, John,that I don’t actually have a say in this? I don't think he would do something to hurt my flesh. But I'm scared of what he might do to both of you. How do you think I'll live with the burden of being the cause of your... - You pause, not wanting to end the phrase. - Death.

\- So you're having dinner with the devil. – He says, sighing - I won't let you. I can protect you. - He scratches his head - We can protect ourselves and you. - He includes Sherlock.

\- Can you really? 

Both of you knew. Moriarty's men. Maybe they wouldn't hurt her. But Sherlock and John? That's a whole new story. 

\- Can't you see how dangerous and psychopath this man is?

\- Of course I can! Know what? I want to put on some clothes. Please. - You point towards the exit door, coming up with an excuse. You clutch the towel around you. John shakes his head, trying to dissipate the anger he felt. He attempted to say something, but as he opened his mouth to say it, he just shuts it and storms out of the flat.

You sigh as you face your wardrobe. Okay, that's it. You go back into the bathroom and look at yourself. You lock the door and run down the stairs. On the lobby, you bump into Sherlock, who holds your wrists to stop you from falling. 

\- I thought you were at the estate.

\- I was. Now I'm here to stop you from going.

\- There's no mistake in this. He won't do any harm to me, I'm certain.

\- That was before, maybe, but not now. I don't know what crossed his mind that time. This one, though, he has motivations. Who knows what he might do to you now that you even live with us? He isn't the kind of man who likes to get his hands dirty, but that doesn't stop him from liking to cause pain.

You look into his eyes. Pain. What kind of pain? Pain to who? To you, or to them?   
\- But if I don't go... 

He shushes you.

\- Then we protect ourselves.

You go 221B and John and Sherlock sit by the fireplace, waiting for Moriarty. You decide to help Mrs. Hudson, setting the table. 

\- And the case? - You ask, suddenly remembering it. John looks at Sherlock interested, as he had also forgot about the case with all the events.

\- Fake. - Sherlock mutters, looking intently at the flames.

\- How? - John rapidly fires the question, confused.

\- There was no evidence. No blood, no signs of aggression. No boot marks. The man was happy. No enemies. He has what people call a perfect life. Why would he leave? But he had children. And he cares. - He sighs, shaking his head, remembering the countless times Mycroft told him that caring is not an advantage. - If a man doesn't have enemies, reasons to leave, or money issues, what is the last thing that can be his pressure point? - He finally looks at you and John - His family.

\- So you're saying someone threatened his family?

\- Someone really clever, who told him exactly how to not leave any clues behind. It was quite a puzzle, but after searching everywhere, I came to the conclusion that the only evidence was there the whole time. The lack of it. It wasn't because of him that he was kidnapped. It was because the kidnapper wanted more time. 

\- And what happened?

\- I pretended to keep investigating until John called me and gave me my confirmation.

\- What? - John and you ask in unison, completely dazzled by this display of brightness of Sherlock.

\- If no one is interested in causing any trouble to this man, and is careful to not leave any evidence, who would be this clever? And why? 

Oh no. 

\- Bloody hell - John says. You sit on a chair, putting the remaining forks on the table. - But this is just intuition. How can you be so sure?

\- Because it’s the only plausible explanation. Once you eliminate the impossible whatever remains however improbable…

\- Must be the truth. - You end the phrase you know so well. A small smile forms on his lips. He carries on the explanation.

\- Moriarty planned this really well. He just forgot that for me, as the case gets peculiar, too strange, easier it is for me to figure it out. When I noticed the forbidding man was trying to buy himself time, I started to think why. To confuse the police. To delay my work. And who is causing so much disarray today? Moriarty himself. He wanted (y/n) to see the hours passing. She would remember the dinner, leave and I would be there too immerse on the investigation. John would help me. John is such an emotive person, though. He noticed you weren't there anymore and presumed you went back to 221B. He was right, and I had already wrapped up the case. I couldn't leave, not yet, as Moriarty had people watching me all the time. If I left they would tell Moriarty, and he could do much worse than someone gone missing. John then phoned me telling that you were going to have the dinner. I got a cab and came here as fast as I could.

\- And what about the man? Where is he? - John asks, filling his glass with brandy.

\- I don't know. - He dismisses your worried look with his hand - He's fine somewhere, at least for now. It's impossible to find him. There isn't anything that could tell me where. He's going to appear eventually. Alive or dead.

The rawness of his words leave you and John speechless. Both of you face the fireplace, while Sherlock got up and walked to the window, observing the empty streets as everyone must be gathered together in their houses and the severe weather doesn't help as well. The snow falls heavy and covers the street. 

That's when you three hear the sound of the front door closing. Then the smooth footsteps and the cracks on the stairs as the person gets closer. Sherlock turns himself to John, who gets up and quickly takes out his gun off the drawer, turning off the safe and pointing it towards the door. Then Sherlock looks tenderly at you. You get up.

Sherlock walks toward the door and as the person you all know exactly who is knock the door, he opens it.

\- How lovely to see you again, Sherlock! - You hear the familiar Irish accent and his gaze finally meet yours. - You are stunning, love. Let's go, shall we? I promise you will love the restaurant we are going.

John clears his throat on purpose, attracting Moriarty's attention. 

\- I wouldn't do it if I were you. – Moriarty says, pointing at the gun. - Don't make things too messy. By the way, Sherlock, did you enjoy the little puzzle I gave to you today? 

\- Puzzle? It's a person's life. - You say, instinctively gripping a fork.

\- Don't worry, love. He is safe and sound at his home now. 3, 2, 1. - The sound of a notification comes from Sherlock's phone. 

\- "He came back. Interrogating him tomorrow. - GL" - He reads aloud.

John keeps the gun aimed at him.

\- What do you want? - John inquires, his voice husky.

\- I want to have dinner with (y/n). - He stares at John, with his eyes shining, just as Sherlock described his look. You shiver. - He takes his hands to the pocket inside his suit. John tightens his grip on the gun. Moriarty slowly takes out a white rose, similar to the ones of the bouquet. The tension fades in the room. He offers the rose to you, with a different look this time. More tender, more human. You look at John and Sherlock, who waits for your reaction.


End file.
